


Bitter

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two angry, incompatible people have bad sex to prove a point to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter

It surprised him; how quickly she'd taken to the Madre.

Her name was Marigold, and she was 25, 26 by Dean's estimation. Dark skinned, wiry black hair, and a smile like broken glass. She wasn't beautiful, but she was female and better company than the mute. He wanted her as soon as he laid eyes on her, even though her jumpsuit gave her the figure of a packing crate.

In the Police Station, she found a set of armor, sturdier and even bulkier than the jump suit the old man had put her in. She changed into it as soon as she found it, stripping in front of him without a second thought. Her immodesty galled him, but in the brief seconds after she'd crawled out of the suit and before she'd put on the armor, he caught a glimpse of her full breasts, narrow waist, and shapely, muscled legs. Her skin was rough, ashy, and scarred, but she had the curves of a pin-up girl.

"Could you help me get this on?"

The armor was all buckles and zippers. She held her long, thick braid off her neck and looked at him over her shoulder. In that instant, she looked like Vera, all full lips and dark eyes. Dean was struck by the queerest feeling of déjà vu as he moved mechanically towards her, the words _I'd rather help you out of it, Dear_ dead on his lips.

The moment passed; Vera was dead, and Marigold was a desert rat. He did up the zipper, tightened the straps, and gave her a nod of approval. They rescued the mutant and fled back to the Villa fountain, where the mute was waiting for them. There, Elijah gave them directions for starting up the Gala.

She left him on a rooftop in Puesta del Sol. She left him with a wink and a coy line, his stomach churning and his heart in his throat. He decided, then and there, to kill her. He wouldn't allow any woman to wield that kind of power over him, especially not some jumped-up thieving whore. There had been other women before her, and once he had gotten at the Madre's treasure, there would be others.

Perhaps in Vegas.

The Gala went off without a hitch. It wasn't until they made it into the casino that anything went wrong. He was spirited away to the Tampico, and the others vanished into the hotel's bowels. He set his trap, and waited for her to come after him.

When his moment came, when he had a clear line of sight and a hidden position in the catwalks, he found himself suddenly without the nerve. He hated her, hated the predatory creature she'd become (or perhaps had always been). He wanted her to be soft, malleable, gentle. He wanted her to be what Vera had been. Putty in his hands, burning for his touch.

Marigold was burning, but not for him.

And he hated her for it.

He hated himself more for helping her, then for letting her undo his belt buckle in his dressing room. She took him, soft, into her broken glass mouth. He ran his hands through her hair, not knowing what else to do. She wasn't beautiful, he didn't like her, he was beginning to fear her and the power she held over him.

He came in her mouth, she swallowed his semen and climbed into his lap.

"You're so bitter, Dean," she whispered, her voice smoke in his ear.


End file.
